October 12, 2008

  • He will still feed me

      …but he doesn’t need me, now I’m sixty-four, and he is sixty-one.  He never needed me, and I think that is great — that he’d still want me around even though I’m non-essential.  What a privilege that is.  What a guy.

    In my mind, he often appears the way he looked on our honeymoon.

    The years have changed him some.  Now he looks more like this:

    …still kinda cute, I think.

    He was born the same year as O. J. Simpson, the year Aleister Crowley died, Howard Hughes flew the Spruce Goose, and Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in the Bell X-1.  Ironically, he was born on a holiday honoring a man not particularly beloved of his Muscogee relations, a man without whose existence and accomplishments neither he nor I nor any of us cross-bred American mongrels would have been born .

    I gave him a book for his birthday, because I could.  If I’d had the means, I would have given him a lot of things he’d value more, such as

    and

    …but he can’t afford to have me blowing our money on expensive gifts, even though he is pulling in the currency fairly well this weekend at the gun show on the fairgrounds.

    Today, in case you haven’t guessed already, is ArmsMerchant‘s birthday.

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